The Laird almost preened himself with pride, and Amanda felt sickened by his vanity.
“Your father would have saved you,” Struan observed. “He would have given his life for you.”
If Amanda had not felt so furious, she would have burst out laughing. As it was, she dropped her gaze to the floor and nodded slowly. “Of course,” she agreed, then she looked up again. “I believe you have some need of my services, My Laird.”
“Not in my chamber,” Struan said. “I have a special room put aside for you, healer.
He had not even bothered to learn her name, Amanda realised.
The guards helped him rise, then they were led to a freezing cold chamber with stone walls and a tiny barred window high up on the wall which gave practically no light. A few shelves lined the walls, on which stood bottles of the medications that she often used, but most of them were nearly empty and Amanda was glad she had had the foresight to bring her own supplies.
The guards laid Struan McNeill down on a wooden table in the middle of the room and Amanda unpacked her chest of medicines, then removed the bandage from the wound on his leg. It was a long, deep wound that was oozing pus, but a clumsyattempt had been made to keep it clean, so it was not as bad as it might have been; nevertheless, it needed urgent treatment.
“How did this happen?” she asked as she threw away the bandage.
“That swine of a brother did this to me,” he replied bitterly, gritting his teeth. “He is a piece of vermin! I have been suffering for years, and one healer after another has tried to cure me, but nothing works. But the filthy dog could have killed me, yet I was too strong for him!” He took a moment to smile, a disgusting, triumphant leer. “He tried to assassinate me, but I’m still here, and I am quite sure he’s beside himself with rage about that. He hates me as much as I hate him.” His voice was a growl and his face was flushed with rage and savage satisfaction. “Hamish would try anything to kill me. The bastard hates me so much.”
What a pity he didn’t succeed,Amanda thought angrily, then gave an inward laugh at the use of the wordbastard.
Struan himself was one, not Hamish. Yet, she was surprised that Hamish had not succeeded. Perhaps Struan was tougher than he looked, but she was glad that he had been suffering, since wounds like this were painful in the extreme.
Aloud, she said, “I must warn you that this will probably hurt a bit, so I will have to administer some milk of the poppy to put you to sleep.”
Struan looked indecisive for a moment, as if he thought Amanda might try to poison him, then he nodded. “Do it,” he said, “but beware if I come to any harm, my men will make you pay for it.”
Amanda was terrified, but not surprised. Struan McNeill had ice in his veins, and absolutely no conscience; there was not a shred of goodness in him.
“I will be careful, My Laird,” she assured him, as calmly as she could.
She administered the poppy milk, then, when Struan was asleep, Amanda tended to his wound, stitched it up and applied another bandage to it. When she was finished, the guards lifted him and took him back to his palatial chamber.
Amanda went with him to see that he was properly taken care of, then, as Hamish had predicted, she was shown to the guest room; a chamber that was not unlike the sick room where she had just treated her patient. It was cold and damp, with a single cot in the corner covered by one thin blanket, and Amanda realised she would have to put on all her clothes to stay warm.
By this time darkness was falling, but Amanda waited until midnight to make sure there was absolutely no light in the sky before she lit her candle, just like Hamish had instructed her. She began to pace the room, wondering what would happen when Hamish’s men came, or what would happen if they missed the signal.
She had never been in such a situation before and had no idea what to expect, but she knew that the whole experience would likely be brutal. She only hoped that Hamish would emerge in one piece, relatively unscathed.
Not a moment later, she heard the sound of footsteps ascending the stairs. They were so heavy and thunderous that Amanda realised that they belonged to the guards, who wore heavy, hob-nailed boots.
Hastily, she took out her book of medical mixtures and pretended to be studying them by the light of the candle when the door crashed open and a ferocious, heavy-set guard stood on the threshold.
“Come wi’ me, healer,” he barked, then leapt forward and grabbed her by the arm before dragging her towards the door.
Amanda gave a scream of fright and began to struggle, but of course, she was no match for a strong, well-trained soldier with a powerful physique, especially when he held up his large fist.
“Nae fightin’, healer, or I will have tae spoil that pretty face o’ yours!”
Amanda submitted at once and allowed herself to be led away, knowing she had no choice.
One of Struan’s men stayed behind, however, and seeing the candle at the window, he laughed and snuffed it out.
18
Hamish had led a party of his strongest men towards the edge of the hill on which the castle stood, and they camped there under the cover of darkness and the shade of the fir trees. He had been pacing around the camp for hours, wound up as tight as a bowstring, as he waited for Amanda’s signal.
He could not rid himself of the notion that she was being ill-treated, even tortured because he knew Struan’s nature, and he was not kind. In fact, the words that best described his brother were vicious and vindictive. He was a sadist who enjoyed inflicting torture.
If she were a man, she could try to fight off another man with her fists, but the guards were big and well-trained, and Amanda was a woman, and a small one at that. She had no way of defending herself, and men could be cruel in more ways than one to a vulnerable female. He shuddered at the thought of her being violated, and knew he would kill any man who inflicted such harm on the woman he loved.
